The Personal Journal of J Watson
by Seasidegrl
Summary: Watson's more personal thoughts on his life with S. Holmes
1. Chapter 1

(Thank you to MissBubbles the FANTASTIC beta!)

As the assistant to Sherlock Homes it has long been my duty and privilege to keep a journal on his life. A journal documenting the cases, clues, conundrums and conclusions his brilliant mind unravels like loose knitting. Holmes is aware of my scribbling**,** often offering-up comments on some particulars of a case that he wants recorded for future reference. What he is unaware of is the companion journal I have also been penning. Since these thoughts are far more personal in nature, I would never share them with Holmes. This journal is more for the preservation of my mental health than for anything else**;** A place to examine the personal side of my relationship with the world's most brilliant mind and most frustrating man.

**June, 1901**

We had been running at top speed towards an armed Albino banker. The reasons for the chase are all discussed in detail in my main case journal. What I want to record here is what happened after the Albino turned on us and fired his shots**,** causing Holmes and I to scurry, ratlike, into an abandoned dockyard. Panting from our exertion**,** we staggered further into the empty warehouse to recover. A few broken crates provided seating and we soon caught our breath.

We rose together, planning to leave, but as I turned towards Holmes**,** expecting a witty quip or a new case angle**,** he grabbed my arms and pressed his lips to mine. Being a man of medicine I understand that near**-**death experiences often produce fevered emotions in people. Holmes being highly unpredictable at the best of times**,** I took the kiss as nothing more than a reassurance from one friend to another**;** a simple celebration of survival. It was only when the kiss lingered that my thoughts on its meaning took a different path. I was so taken aback that I let my body respond before my mind could catch up. I felt my lips linger and even begin to push back.

Quickly coming to reason I stepped away from him. I was prepared to make a joke and brush off the matter when my voice caught in my throat at the sight of Holmes before me. His hair, tussled at the best of times, now seemed positively wild. His eyes were liquid, almost feral and his lips…wet, plump, inviting. I must admit, here and nowhere else, that I felt an overwhelming need to taste them. Bewitched**,** I stepped forward**,** clasped him on the back of his neck and pulled him into a forceful kiss. I blush now even thinking of my actions. My experience in such matters before this day had been two chaste kisses forced on me by females more willing than necessary to show-off their feminine wiles. My body pressed against his like two Jellyfish preparing to mate and I felt his excitement hard against my left thigh. I knew my body was responding in kind but could not think of what it was revealing to Holmes in that moment, or I would have stopped right there and died of shame. Instead**,** all my senses were awash with the taste of Holmes, the sweetness of his tobacco mixed with the sting of his drink, the feel of him in my arms and the desire running rampant through my body. A moan escaped me and that was enough to break the spell. I released the hold I had on Holmes as he lowered me to the ground. I remember feeling bewildered that my feet had left the ground without my realizing that they had done so. I was in shock. I still am. Was this a mere aberration? An experiment that Holmes would store in his vault of knowledge and use whenever needed? Perhaps I shall never truly know.

_XXXXXX_

Watson

If, Dear Chum, you simply place this journal in two sack clothes under the third floorboard of your closet with only a small lock to secure the bundle, then you are to blame for my finding it. You may have well left a note stating "Holmes, please read this".

As I have now read over your fine account of our recent afternoon**,** I feel compelled to add two points to your findings:

I believe you are referring to the mating habits of the Seahorse**,** not the Jellyfish. The male Jellyfish simply sprays his seed into the water and the female swims through it. Neither party touches during this transaction. Seahorses**,** however**,** do indeed wrap around each other for the majority of their mating ritual.

I liked being tasted.

Holmes


	2. Chapter 2

June 1901-London

I am mortified. Holmes found this journal and read through my thoughts on our recent exchange in the dock yard. I was so mortified that I was prepared to burn this journal and never think more on keeping anything of its type again. However, a murder changed my mind. The murder itself was inconsequential except that it kept me from burning the journal as I was needed by Holmes. When I arrived back at Baker Street the journal could not be located. It did not appear again for several days at which time it sprang up on my bedside table accompanied by a new book on the life of Seahorses. I don't know if Holmes was apologizing for his tampering ways or if he was prompting me to write more.

June 1901-

It has been two weeks and Holmes has made no mention of that day. That is for the best. It was a mere act of unused adrenaline and nothing more.

June 1901-

Was it that bad? Is he upset it happened? He seemed to be responding positively by leaving me that note about being tasted yet now he acts as though we are friends and could never be anything else. Gladstone snores at my feet. I fear he is the only sane one in this dwelling.

July 1901-

The Ellington's are desperate to have me for dinner to introduce me to yet another young lady of marriage age. I do not mind. The meals are pleasant and I know someday it will be right to seek out a marriage. Holmes has often accused me of being pedestrian in these matters but that is only because he is so Bohemian in his approach to life. Perhaps that is why he intrigues me the way he does.


	3. Chapter 3

July 1901-

Things I have lost or have been stolen since moving into a flat located next to one Sherlock Holmes:

One waistcoat-Blue

Two shirts-white

Two hats

One gold fob watch

Several pairs of silk dress stocking

Watson,

As you have now taken to storing this document in the false back of the grandfather clock located in the attic with two large steamer luggage trunks stacked in front to conceal its location, I have taken this as a sign that you once again would like me to read your notes at my leisure. I am only now commenting because I feel I am being falsely accused of crimes I did not commit. Of the items that have gone missing let me state the case of my innocence.

One Waistcoat-Blue…Ours. How can I steal what belongs to both of us?

Two shirts-White dress…Ours

Two Hats-One taken by the wind, one lost while on chase and then crushed under the wheel of a carriage-Really old boy you can hardly blame me for the wind and carriage wheels can you?

One gold fob watch-I believe you will find the watch at the pawn shop you frequent near those terrible gambling dens you also frequent. On this I shall say no more.

Several pair of silk dress stockings.-Ours…and Gladstone has eaten a few.

Sincerely, Holmes


	4. Chapter 4

July 1901-

This will mark the third dinner between the Ellingtons and Rebecca and I. Even though it is but a short period of time I feel drawn to Rebecca. She seems to know my heart and soul before I know it and looks so deeply into my very being whenever we meet. I have shared some of these new feelings with Holmes. He seems amused that I should be so transfixed by a woman. Perhaps this is simply because no woman has interested me as completely as Rebecca. I can hardly concentrate to write this I am in such excitement to see her again.

July 1901-

As the heavy summer heat coats London my heart is as light as early spring. Rebecca is a breath of fresh air. Her skin, pale and porcelain, bewitches me with its flawless beauty. Her eyes green jewels sparkling in their power to intoxicate. And her scent like a walk along a flower strewn country meadow. She is beauty and grace given life. I shall leave this journal out tonight in the hopes that Holmes and everyone who comes through my door can witness these words. I had never understood love until I beheld Rebecca.

Watson,

I do worry about your fits of romanticism.

Sincerely, Holmes


	5. Chapter 5

August 1901-

I am not sure that after recent events my friendship with Holmes can ever be repaired. I am not referring to the notes he made in my last journal entry or even his lack of respect for my personal thoughts. What I am referring to… it is difficult for me to even commit to paper these thoughts or events… but I feel if I do not write them down in their entirety than I will allow myself to create a more palatable version. A version in were my friendship with Homes remains untarnished. But, I must be truthful even to myself.

It started innocently enough. My relationship with Rebecca had progressed to the point that we were to see each other in a more social setting then the Ellington's dinner table. The Ellington's, as well as Holmes and myself, had season tickets to the local music pavilion. It was here on Friday night that the London symphony orchestra would be performing the last in their summer series. I was to meet Rebecca, and the Ellington's, in their box before the curtain and again at intermission. Since this would be the first time Rebecca would be able to make a more detailed impression of me I was very nervous. So nervous in fact that I fear I had worn on Holmes. I became aware of this when he sharply reprimanded me for pacing one too many times through his room. I could not help it. I so wanted to make a good impression for it is my hope that within a few more dates Rebecca would consent to be my wife. I did not share this secret desire with Holmes but I did, apparently, share too much of my esteem for the far maiden.

"It is not necessary to once again tell me of Rebecca's eyes or the flush of her cheek Watson. You have told me so much about her I feel I have already been married to her for many a night." Holmes had said in a scolding manner.

I didn't care. I am in love. I was aware however, that my state might be affecting Holmes because he has never been in love. At least I do not think he has. He very rarely mentions women and then it is only to raise an objection or bafflement at their behavior. Irene Adler did, I believe, bewitch him for a time but it seems more a matter of one wanting to outsmart the other than any true desire to be with each other in a more intimate way. I want to be with Rebecca. She is everything to me.

As I finished dressing Holmes came in fully dressed and looking every bit the sulky schoolboy. Normally he is quiet happy about our evenings out but this time his feet positively dragged the carpet. He looked at me and smiled an odd crooked smile before stating,

"You are a sight old boy. Let me help you straighten your jacket. We shall not have the future Dr. Watson having to lay those…jewel like was it…eyes on you in such a befuddled state."

I was taken aback by Holmes willingness to help me and by his deduction of my future plans. Of course he could figure out I wanted to marry Rebecca. He is Sherlock Holmes after all.

I leaned against the wall as he straightened out the buttons on my shirt front. My mind was occupied with thoughts of Rebecca and the concert.

"Is that Beethoven?" he asked. I was surprised I had been humming and realized that lost in my thoughts I was humming a piece the orchestra had played the last time Holmes and I attended a performance. I acknowledged the music's ownership causing Holmes to reminisce about that night.

"It was such a lovely late spring evening. You wore your new green frock coat. Many heads turned I remember. Green is a fine color on you."

"Don't you mean our green frock coat?" I had asked baiting Holmes a little. He laughed and leaned in to address my shirt collar. It was then that I felt his lips on my neck. I stood frozen in shock. His lips moved to my earlobe. I had never, and had I been asked earlier that day would have swore so, known that I would desire anyone to attend to that part of my anatomy. When Holmes tongue gingerly glanced over the hidden spot where the ear connects to the neck, my legs became weak and a fire raced though my loins. A loan moan escaped me encouraging Holmes to continue. His teeth nibbled my neck as I grabbed his lapels pulling him forward. I believe I may have been pushing my neck into him because I next felt his teeth sinking into a more serious bite. This only inflamed my passion and soon I was placing bruising kisses of my own on his neck and mouth. Then it all stopped. Holmes pulled away muttering in such a way I could only make out, "really old boy hardly the time," before Holmes scurried out of the room.

I felt crumpled physically and emotionally and quiet ashamed at my actions. It was while combing through my hair that I noticed, in the mirror, the tell-tale redness on my neck not covered by the collar. I covered it with a quick dressing and headed to the waiting carriage. Holmes laughed when he saw the bandage on my neck but remained blessedly silent on the subject.

Because of our silliness I was too late to see the Ellington's, and Rebecca, until intermission. I was all apologies. Holmes even helped by going to the Ellington's box with me and covering with an excuse that found him at fault and soon had all parties laughing. Such is his charm. Rebecca looked beautiful and was most gracious in her acceptance of my inexcusable tardiness. She even had concern for the dressing on my neck asking to about its origins and lightly chastising me for placing myself in harm's way. It was then that Holmes spoke up again and I was shown for a fool. His placed his hand on my neck and the bandage before saying,

"It is true when Watson knows what he really wants he is more than willing to place his neck in harm's way. But don't worry. I am always there with him. Practically on top of him one might say."

He pressed a little harder on the bandage and I suddenly realized that what had occurred at Baker Street was no flight of passion. Holmes had marked me. It was a show of ownership to Rebecca. Rebecca blushed a little at the sight of Holmes hand on my neck but quickly changed the subject. Given that she is such a fine woman I know that the true meaning behind Holmes words escaped her but I was so angered I made another apology and quickly parted from her company. Holmes followed me but I continued walking until he got the hint and left me to walk off my anger. Now I sit, waiting for Holmes to return. Tonight will surely be the end of our friendship but it has to be. I feel Holmes is playing a game with me. It is a game I cannot let him win.


	6. Chapter 6

August 1901-

I was all but pacing by the time Holmes returned. When he entered his flat I was waiting seated in his favorite chair. I wasted no time in my launching of words not even letting him take off his overcoat. I told him I was shocked by his behavior and could no longer be a part of his evil game. He addressed me by silently and slowly taking off his coat and hanging it up. Next he removed his hat placing it carefully, more carefully than he normally did, on the side table and then moved towards the brandy pouring both of us a glass. He placed mine on the table nearest me and then took a sip of his own. I watched this charade of nonchalance with a fury bubbling inside of me. Even now, even with everything that had happened tonight he was trying to remain in control of the events between us. I would not have it. I grabbed the glass he had poured for me and flung it against the nearest wall. It shattered in an explosion of crystal. Holmes looked at the wreckage and then at me before saying,

"You really are a puzzle sometimes Watson. Do you know that?"

I was shocked that he was trying to turn the evening's events around so that I came up the scoundrel.

"I am no more a puzzle than you are," I shot back.

He ignored my words and found a comfortable spot leaning against the heavy dresser while he continued pulling apart the evenings events until I was nothing more than a mad man who held fled from the theater leaving Holmes to clean up after me. I tried again and again to get my point of view across but it was a lost cause. Holmes had decided the facts and no amount of circumstantial evidence was going to sway him. Disgusted I got up to take my leave when he spoke again with words now burned into my heart,

"I was able, after you left, to observe Rebecca. While she is, as you described, quiet pretty, she is, I am sorry to say, not in love with you and I fear she will never be in love with you."

Upon these words I stood, walked across the room and punched Holmes squarely in the jaw. He stumbled and then fell to the ground as I left the room and returned to my flat.

Watson-

Please join me in my room for a late supper. There is much to discuss.

Holmes

I stared at the small piece of paper Holmes had slipped under my door. I was calmed enough to be able to talk to him but unsure if I really wanted to. How could he say such hateful things about Rebecca? Perhaps it is because his own stab at a relationship left him humiliated? Perhaps he is just trying to spare me the same heartbreak? Or perhaps he is just, once again, pushing our friendship to its already thin boundaries? I have decided I will join him if only to see the new bruise on his smug face.


	7. Chapter 7

August 1901

As our fingers tore into the cold chicken that constituted our late supper I eyed with joy the bruise on Holmes face. He noticed and chuckled at me. Such is the ego of that man that even a heavy blow to the face does not convince him he is wrong. On the contrary he is probably convinced it is I who have too much anger and not enough control. He inquired after some mundane matters with I answering dutifully. And then he threw a sharp curve to our conversation.

"Watson? Have you ever had the pleasure of a woman?"

I coughed out the wine I had just swallowed. I am sure I blushed a range of reds as his question shocked and embarrassed me.

"I am only asking," he continued not seeming to notice the effect his question had on me, "because I had assumed that during your military years this matter would have been attended to but I know fear it may not have been."

Holmes looked at me with that penetrating look that had me confessing more than I wished to. I admitted to him that when I first joined there was a ritual of taking the privates to visit a house of ill repute. I, like all of the other privates, were simply boys wide eyed to the world. We went with the older, more experienced, soldiers. I was given an older woman who took pity on such inexperienced boys. But when my turn came, after we closed ourselves into her room, I could not go through with the deed. Instead she let me talk to her about my family and my fears.

Holmes listened to my tale with a small smile on his face and then apologized to me. He said he thought I had more experience and therefore would take his kisses and attentions as nothing more than the mutual pleasure of letting off steam. He also felt that my lack of romantic experience was causing me to place Rebecca on a pedestal. A pedestal, Holmes feels, she does not belong on. He then offered to school me in some of the physical romantic arts. I believe I blushed and stammered all the way from the table to the door back to the safety of my flat.

Why does time spent with Holmes always end with my head in confusion?

His theory and offer intrigued me to the point of distraction. Eventually I gave up my battle against insomnia and crept from my room to his. Holmes has never been the sort to keep a regular sleeping schedule. Because of this I was slightly afraid that I would have to engage him in another conversation about his relaxation theories or admit face to face that I wanted him to touch me. Happily the lights to his room were off and in the darkness I saw his shape resting in his bed. At least my being in Holmes' bed, should I lose my nerve about the matter, could be dismissed as accidental. I lifted the bed covering and at once Holmes's voice poured into the room. "Take off your clothes," he said, or rather commanded, manner of fatally. I expected to be put off by the command but my body shivered in odd delight. I was about to voice complaint anyway, just to show Holmes that while I may not be as skilled in these areas I was hardly just going to be doing his bidding, when he once again spoke saying, "it will just make things easier than trying to get them off later." Hardly a romantic phrase but this was not a romantic venture so the logic soothed me. I quickly removed my clothing not caring where the pieces fell and then I, once again, lifted up the bed covering and lay down on the bed. Our bodies touched and I realized with a start that Holmes was naked as well. Was he that sure I was going to give in to his suggestions or was this the manner in which he usually slept? Since I did not want to know the answers I did not ask the questions instead I lay there in silence completely unsure of what to do next. The bed sagged as Holmes rolled towards me and then his lips softly kissed mine. I allowed the kiss and welcomed more. The same fervor pitch that had visited our previous encounters returned and soon he was on top of me pressing against me. I felt my hardness touch his and I pulled away quickly with a flush of embarrassment and fear. He looked down at me and, even in the dark, I could see his lips form a kind smile. He reassured me that our actions that night were to be as "innocent as two naughty schoolboys," and nothing more. On these words I let him continue. As our tongues performed a passionately muted dance our hands explored each other. I let my fingers trace over his back and even down to his backside. I was amazed at how soft his skin felt under my fingertips and the thrill the wiry hairs on his legs gave me as they rubbed against my own smoother ones. Good to his word Holmes let me go at my own pace and never tried to force his body against mine in a rough or aggressive manner. Eventually he moved from on top of me and then placed his hand around my cock. I was glad, once again, for the darkness since his actions dragged a squeaky moan from my lips. Hardly the sound a man would like to make. His fingers moved up and down my shaft while my own finger brushed through the hairy patch on his chest. His hand tightened and quickened. I cried out and spilled my excitement onto my stomach. When I had recovered enough I had the sudden realization that Holmes was masturbating next to me. For some reason this shocked me. He grunted his release before I could assist in any way. Everything became silence between us so I slipped out of the bed grabbed a covering and made my way back to my room.

I am unsure if I have learned anything tonight except that Holmes, even when naked, is a dangerous creature.

Watson-

Along with more intimate matters I must also skill you in the art of hiding your journal. I admit placing it in a safety deposit box at the bank was smart…leaving the key in the hollowed out heel of your black dress shoes was not.

I do not grunt. Your squeaky moans are just fine. When shall the next lesson commence? You are hardly done in your studies and I am looking forward to administering the final exam.


	8. Chapter 8

August 1901-

I have never liked being in a state of confusion yet I remain in the company of Holmes who lives in nothing but a state of confusion. Why do I put myself through it? Am I a masochist? Or is his world too interesting to not want to be a part of? I know I am not alone in this behavior. Time and time again I bear witness to men of lofty status being dismissed by Holmes, and, doing nor more in the way of censor then the raising of an eyebrow or clearing of the throat. Where it I who behaved as Holmes I would not be tolerated. For example if I had, as Holmes did earlier tonight, threw a glass of red wine at the Police Commissioner in order to demonstrate the splash pattern blood can make during a stabbing I very much doubt the response I would have received would have been, "Well done Sir!" As it was Holmes accepted this compliment as natural and then went back to his dinner leaving the Commissioner to sit with ruin shirt soaked in wine.


	9. Chapter 9

August 1901,

The summer has reached a heat which sits on your shoulders like a wet woolen overcoat. Even Holmes, normally an energetic person, plodded along beside me as I shop for a few necessary items. Of course his change in temperament could also be contributed to the rather large sulk that has taken over him. Not only has my relationship with Rebecca continued but it is flourishing. The Ellington's and Rebecca have even invited me to spend the rest of the summer with them at their country home. It is my hope that by the end of the summer Rebecca will have accepted my hand in marriage. I have tried to share these plans with Holmes but he changes the subject. Case in point as I am writing this Holmes and I are in the local Haberdasher waiting for a lighter summer boater that I had ordered to be fetched from the store room. I have tried several times to bring up Rebecca only to have Holmes launch into the various merits of hat types and the various theories he posses on which type of person sports which type of hat. Worse he has been dropping unveiled hints all day to my needing far more nighttime lessons before I would be a suitable husband for anyone. I do not feel comfortable when our activities are mentioned outside of the privacy of our flats. He knows this yet insists on pushing me to the bitter end of patience. This is why I have decided to stop the nighttime activities all together. The man holds too much sway over me as it stands. Oh dear, Holmes is arguing with the Manager…Watson to the rescue.

Watson-I did no such thing as drop hints I merely pointed out the necessary skills one should posses to properly woo a woman. I also did not change the subject of your impending foolishness in regards to Rebecca. It is simply that I find the subjects of hats more interesting than the subject of marriage. But, if you wish to curtail our activities than so be it. It will not be me who shall be upset. Honestly I was doing you a favor old boy. If I knew it would bring you to such hysterics I would never had made the offer in the first place.

Yours in Friendship alone,

Holmes


	10. Chapter 10

August 1901,

The note left by Holmes is simply vexing. I have no choice but to ignore it and continue my packing. The train is leaving tomorrow morning and I have spent too much time as on Holmes and am now,

As I was writing the last journal entry Holmes entered my room. I did not have time to get up from my arm chair before Holmes was in front of me. I began to babble about train schedules when he leaned down and kissed me. I am no longer shocked by the fact that we kiss. What did shock me was the aggression and passion the kiss contained. His fingers played through my hair as our tongues pushed against each other. Then his hands drifted fumbling with my belt and trousers until he had freed my manhood. I was already half hard from the kiss and with Holmes attentions I was soon fully hard. It was then that he broke off the kiss and sank to his knees. He spread my legs apart and moved forward. I scarcely breathed. I admit that even with my medical background I do not yet have a deep knowledge of the various sexual positions or pleasures that exist. Holmes, on the other hand, is a virtual library of sexual knowledge. I gripped his shoulders frozen with the uncertainty of what was to happen next. Then I felt his mouth, warm and tight, around my manhood. I am sure Mrs. Hudson received an earful of the moans that poured out of me but I could not be stopped. The pleasure was too explosive to contain. Holmes moaned back sending a throbbing vibration up my shaft. At this I wiggled causing Holmes to plant his hands on both of my thighs. I looked down and Holmes was staring back at me. His eyes dark swirls with his mouth perversely curved around my shaft. A single thought chased all the others away in my brain. Holmes had done this before. There idea. The very notion sent me spinning. The world collapsed and I poured down his throat. As the world floated back into focus I noticed that Holmes had moved to the other side of the room and sat in the overstuffed armchair. His demeanor, quiet and detached, brought a blush to my face. I was unsure what to say or do. Holmes solved this for me by rising and telling me that I was welcome to join him in his room later tonight if I have any trouble sleeping. And then he left. I am quiet at a loss. Every bit of knowledge I gain from him strips away the certainties I have always held about myself.


	11. Chapter 11

August 1901-

It all happened because I lingered.

After my visit from Holmes I was emotionally lost at sea. Was I happy? Was I angry? Did I desire to recreate the events? Was I hoping the events would never take place again? Worse, for my beleaguered spirit, I was harboring even more emotions that buzzed among my subconscious. Little messages fluttering like newly formed species with no chance for me to pin them down and identify their family.

In vain I packed and repacked. Maybe this activity would keep me from dashing into Holmes room. I harbored no more illusions that part of me, the more physical part, desired to be close to Holmes. I also no longer harbored delusions that I could sever my friendship with him. Perhaps I would no longer be able to be in such close living proximity to him but our friendship would endure. Recent events have shown me that.

To calm my thoughts I imagined that I was worrying for no reason. Surely this whole period of our lives would be reduced in the future to nothing more than a sly glance now and again over our wives heads as we watch them tend to our children. Simply a folly of our bachelor days sorted out when wives and families inserted themselves into our lives. Even as I thought it though I knew it was a lie. The ties that bind us are getting tighter as we continue together and I fear soon they will be in knots that not even the great Sherlock Holmes could unravel.

It is neither my body nor my brain that is truly lost though...it is my heart. That tender organ being rubbed raw. A tug of war prize between carnal cravings and the higher consciousness for which all man should aspire. Surely we should not always give in to our baser longings? It is the same internal fight I have whenever I lay a down a bet. I know the cards are stacked and the money should be set aside. Still, that craving. The rush. The need to see what might happen. That need is all encompassing. Afterward I feel debased. I crawl home and hang my head and beg for forgiveness from Holmes, from Mrs. Hudson or the Creditor at my door. Of course Holmes always forgives me just as I forgive him his many, many faults.

As these thoughts tumbled I busied myself and paced. I argued with my emotions, my brain, my soul, my ego, my Id, and my loins. In the end the need, as always, was the toughest competitor shouting down all logic. But it was logic that needed to prevail. To make sure that I kept a cool head I created, and memorized, a clear statement of intent. I needed to make Holmes see that our friendship could only continue in a non physical way. I laid out all my points. Dotted the I's and crossed the T's. I bathed, shaved and, giving myself a stern mental talking to, I made my way to Holmes's room.

"So as you can see, it makes perfect sense for us to admit at once our foolishness and to return to our friendship as it was originally."

I breathed out loudly after my summation of my feelings. I was so concerned that Holmes might interrupt me, and therefore confuse me, that I had said everything in one long rush of breath.

Holmes was seated with a snifter of cognac and a peculiar half smile creasing his lips. He put the glass down and clapped his hands together.

"Watson your right! I have been foolish not to see things from your point of view. The logic you have used clear, and frankly impenetrable. "

I let out a high sigh of relief. Holmes was not going to argue or complain or pout. My logic had won him over and now our friendship could continue.

"Of course," he said a smile presenting itself on his lips, "what would a farewell be without a proper send off?"

My summation of why our friendship should go no further into the physical arena had been carefully constructed over the better part of the day. My oral presentation on said matter lasted a little under twenty minutes. I was back in Holmes's bed in less than ten minutes time.

As usual my times with Holmes had jumbled my thoughts. Physically I was, for the moment, sated. Holmes had recreated the events from earlier this evening and once again the effect was mind blowing. I was tempted to ask him where he had acquired his skills but I was unsure I wanted to know the answer. Even as the pleasure still sang through my veins I felt a sadness plucking away at my heart. I knew once source of my melancholy was that this would indeed be the last performance we should play out together. But, what saddened me more was that in all of our moments together I had never brought Holmes to completion. That task was one he took into his own hand. Was I that inadequate a bed partner that Holmes felt he would be better off utilizing his own hands? Or was he truly on pleasuring me because he sensed how much I enjoyed being touched by him. Was I imposing my lustfulness on him?

It was due to my losing myself in such thoughts that I lingered. In fact so lost in thoughts was I that I did not even notice I had lingered until I felt Holmes's fingers lightly dancing upon my skin. At this point, having had my needs taken care of, I usually silently slipped out of the bed, gathered my clothing and left for the safety of my own flat. But, this time I found myself relaxing in his arms.

Silence covered us. It was an odd silence, not so tense as to be taught but not comfortable enough to be slack. Holmes shifted slightly which I took as a signal he was ready for my leave. As I moved to lift the bed covers however Holmes leaned over me and soon his mouth covered mine. We kissed slow deliberate deep kisses that left me light headed. I felt it was time to be bold. I took the lead and let my hands grasp his manhood. Even though we had played and touched in the past this was the first time I truly experienced Holmes's body. I was taken aback by the weight in my hand. In the past, lost in the stupor of my climax and the darkness of the room, I had never fully taken in what Holmes possessed betwixt his legs. I could not hide my surprise as I exclaimed, "Why you old cock! No wonder you strut about!" This made Holmes laugh and inquire if that made me his hen. I laughed as well thinking the description seemed almost apt since I was always hovering over Holmes like a dutiful wife. Then he said that my hand felt nice. The sound of his voice when he said this; delicate, secretive, tissue paper thin, sent a shiver through me.

It was odd that even in my medical practice I had never really had the experience of handling another man in this manner. I found it strangely exciting. It was much like handling my own except the proportions and my hand position were different. His scrotum felt similar in that odd whiskery way and more shivers cascaded through me as my handling them brought a low moan from Holmes's throat. He pushed me back against the bed and then moved on top of me. I was a little frightened but as Holmes delicately moved my hand and adjusted his body I realized what goal he was trying to accomplish. I moved my legs a little so that he could rest his penis between my thighs. It rubbed against my backside causing me to whimper and pull him closer. Sometimes I feel possessed when I am with him as my body seems to move of its own accord. He leaned down and kissed me as his body rocked against my own. My legs spread even further until his penis was in such a position that he could thrust against the crease in my backside and the mattress. My own cock, again fully hard, was trapped between my and Holme's bodies. I felt very much the harlot as my body readily and eagerly grabbed him. He responded by beginning to thrust in earnest against me. It was a fire I did not know my body could produce. I moaned as the sensitive skin of my lower body was rubbed again and again. Holmes barely made a sound but I could hear his breaths in ragged puffs and fell his backside contract as I gripped it firmly.

"Harder," I heard myself say ashamed even as the word escaped my lips. This seemed to inflame Holmes as his thrust grew quicker and then more erratic. He moaned loudly and I felt a liquid heat spray my body causing me to release as well though, unfortunately, I was a little more vocal in my pleasure.

Holmes rolled off of me leaving me shaking from the pleasure and the loss of his warmth. He got up and crossed the room to the lavatory. Confused and ashamed of how much I had lost myself and what Holmes must think of me I hurriedly climbed out of bed, grabbed my clothing and fled to my room.

It is now dawn and Holmes has not made an attempt to see where I had gone. In a few hours I will board the train to my destiny with Rebecca. Perhaps it is for the best that I not see Holmes until I have returned an engaged man.


	12. Chapter 12

August 1901

Whoever invented Badminton is indeed a masochist. How else can one justify a sport that requires neither the physical prowess of tennis nor the gracefulness of Cricket? Instead one is subject to the humiliation of chasing a weighted ball of fluff to and fro lunging in a most undignified manner. Apparently the Ellington's picked up the habit of the game while they were traveling in India. It is a truly barbaric game. Rebecca, unfortunately, is much enamored of the game and with her obvious talent for playing and scoring easily Badminton may well and truly be her sport. She looks lovely while playing and laughs as I attempt my awkward saves and volleys. George Roth is a game sport helping instruct both Rebecca and I as he has apparently played the game several times before. It was during his travels for his work that he came across it. I have yet to truly understand what he does. Something to do with creating financial deals. It all seems a bit hogwash to my ears. Rebecca seems very taken with his stories. She and I will have to travel to India once we are married. I believe she would enjoy seeing new and exotic lands.

A tasteful pearl ring with a silver setting sits in my travel case. I plan to ask Rebecca to marry me at the end of this week. There are fireworks that mark the end of the summer season and I believe they will make a triumphant accompaniment to out engagement. Rebecca and I have spent many happy hours together taking walks or paddling in the small creek that runs alongside the property. She is a delight and the summer air has added a rosy flush to her cheeks. Just the other day I came upon she and George after they had been horse riding, a sport I have trouble with due to the condition of my leg, and she looked the picture of a healthy woman full of the vigorous of life. Several strands of her hair fallen loose from the exercise and her lips were plump from the blood flowing through them. It gave her an intoxicatingly untamed look. I had to leave them and head off for my own walk alone least I act on such carnal thoughts.

Rebecca is every bit the proper lady. It has restored my ideals of what my future will look like. It also burns me with shame to think of what my recent activities have been. I admit that late at night I sometimes think of his whispered words or the touch of his hands but I know now that it was wrong of me to act of these desires. I pushed Holmes to act in ways I am sure he had no intention no desire to continue with. I let things get too far and I am not sure now how we will repair the damage, but repair it we must. I gave him signals, suggestions, and acceptance when I should have given resistance. Holmes has always been one to give into pleasure but I should have been stronger. I failed us both.


	13. Chapter 13

August 1901,

My, poor, poor, Rebecca. Several times I have had to rescue her from George Roth, and his long winded stories. Time and time again I look around whatever room we all find ourselves in, and there is he and Rebecca in a corner, she pretending to listen intently, he rambling on with some piece for nonsense. I helped make excuses for Rebecca which she, of course, politely refused. But, after the appropriate amount of time, she leaves with me anyway. She is simply too sweet to tell him to his face what a bore he is. During our walks, I try my best to give her advice on how to politely turn him away. She always scolds me, playfully telling me he is not as bad as I make him out to be. She also accuses me of being the same as him! She says I talk of my cases with Holmes just as much, if not more, than George talks of his travels. While I do not believe her to be one to make up false claims, I do not see how I monopolize conversations the way George does. After all, I am asked about Holmes. No one has to ask George to regal us with his many tales of heroic feats in strange lands. He is more than happy to talk regardless of his audience. He talks because he is enamored with the sound of his own voice.

The mention of Holmes burdens my heart. He has not attempted any communication with me since I have been away, nor I with him. I do admit to missing his wit and general company. It is however, easier without him near. Around him I become transfixed, my brain rattled, and my senses lost. Away from him, my thoughts have cleared and are now full of nothing more than Rebecca. To this end I am planning to destroy the early parts of this diary tonight. I do not wish to simply tear up the pages, and risk their being found. Instead, I have located the main furnace and shall go there to destroy the evidence while everyone else has gone for their constitutional after supper. When the deed has been done, and everyone has returned, I shall propose to Rebecca in front of the Ellington's and George Roth. I wish the Ellington's to bear witness to the happiness they have brought me. For George Roth, I can only hope that this will be the definitive answer to where Rebecca's heart truly lays.


	14. Chapter 14

August 1901

The train I am riding in back to London moves slowly. It has been raining, and the tracks are getting slick with mud, forcing the conductor to run the train at a crawling speed. I do not care. I do not care if we ever arrive anywhere. I could stay on this train never to return to my life in London. Perhaps it would be easier to start another life somewhere else. Surely, whatever it would take to create a new identity could not be as difficult as the events I have so recently faced. Looking at my last entry it seems impossible that I should have been so happy only twenty-four hours ago. How can I be happy now? How can I for see a future in which I am ever happy again? I have lost Rebecca. I have lost my heart. I have lost all chance of happiness. I have lost my will to go on with the rest of my life. I am nothing more than a raft, tied too loose, drifting and splintering over the rough ocean waves.

August 1901

How can a simple act, nay a simple moment, change so much in one's life? When I went to take a bath my life was in order. I had everything in place to marry Rebecca. Leaving the bath, with nothing more than a towel around my waist, I was carefree and, even whistling. But then my world stopped. George Roth stood, in the middle of the small room, with this very journal in hand. He looked up from the open page he had been reading and gave me a toothy grin. I did not have time to cover myself further or create a diversion before he uttered the words, "My but what you and Holmes get up to." I know I stuttered and stammered like a fool. I knew he wanted Rebecca for his own but this breech of etiquette, this betrayal, was beyond the pale. I was terrified. Would he truly use what he had read to force Rebecca away from me? I tried to claim innocence stating "I don't know," but he cut me off with his own plain words, "We are not fools, please do not treat me as one. I would demean us both." I was defeated. Like the condemned man that I was, I waited to hear what my sentence would be for the crimes I had committed. Instead, he crossed to where I was, grabbed the towel from around my waist, and stripped me, leaving me exposed. I am sure I blushed even through the shock I was feeling. My hands moved to cover myself but he grabbed them at the wrists and forced me towards the bed. I have had combat training but, between the shock, my bad leg, my nakedness, and his force, I was frozen against doing much more than his bidding. I remember the bed hitting the back of my thighs and then being turned. I do not know how, but I know I was then face down on the bed with George kneeling over me. I could hear clothing being moved and, at the sound of a zipper being pulled down, I remember becoming keenly aware of what he was after. Horrified I began to twist but I was stopped as his body pressed hard against my own. I could feel his flesh against my backside, his chest against my back and his breath, laced with the smell of whiskey, against my neck. I felt physically sick as he heaved himself against me. His manhood, which even in my stupor I felt meager compared to what Holmes offered, tried for entrance but I clamped down my backside and he contended himself with rubbing against me. After only a few thrusts he groaned, I felt his wetness, and then he pushed himself off of me. He called me a perverted freak as he pushed himself up off of the bed. I did not move. Even after I heard him compose himself and the door to the room open and close, I remained where I was. My body hurt and my brain spun. The only thought I clung onto was Rebecca. I had to get to Rebecca. I had to assure her that I was true, and worthy, no matter what words George Roth might say to the contrary. With that duty in mind I forced myself to move, cleaned myself off, got dressed, and set out to save my future.


	15. Chapter 15

August 1901

I do not know how long I took to make myself presentable. I know I tried, in vain, to scrub off the scent of George Roth, the very feeling of the man witch still lingered around me. When I finally made my way out of my room, my skin was raw and, I felt no cleaner. It was a relief when I finally saw being relieve to Rebecca. She sat, so innocently, reading a book in an overstuffed chair. I remember thinking that all of the horrors of life shall never have to touch her. That I shall, from that point forward, live a pure life. A life without the vices of, greed, lust, and, anger. She had looked up and smiled as I approached her and my heart, at once defeated by George Roth, was triumphant again. Foolish romantic notions aside, this was the time to propose to her, of that I was sure. No show, no audience, just she and I declaring our love to one another. I know I rushed across the room because I tripped and practically feel onto her lap. She laughed at this and remarked that I seemed flushed with life. I righted myself and got down on one knee. Her eyes went wide. I was certain that this was from the joy my proposal was surely brining her. I asked her, rather clumsily, to consent to be my wife. I knew I had made a mess of the proposal but, I was happy it was out. She looked at me strangely and then, in a moment that replays again and again in my head, she laughed. She laughed a wicked laugh as if I had told a dirty joke. She calmed herself long enough to exclaim shock at the very notion! She said I was too old, too settled, and that I would never be high enough in society to be a proper husband. It was as if the Rebecca I had known for all of these months was nothing more than an aberration. I asked her why she had spent the months dining with me, encouraging me, and, why she had come up to the summer retreat. This too seemed to surprise her. She said that the dining was simply because I could afford to take her to the nicest places and that it made the Ellington's happy. But it was the last information that tore away the last remnants of my heart. She stated that the reason she was at the summer retreat was, indeed, for a man but, not for me. I wanted to leave the room before the words I knew in my heart were coming escaped her lips. It was then that she told me. The object of her affections, and the man who had already proposed to her in secret, was George Roth. The way she said these things to me, as if I was nothing more than an acquaintance who she was sure would be excited for her good fortunes, chilled me to the very bone. Feeling the contents of my stomach lurch, I ran, like a coward, from the room.

I left a note to the Ellington's and hastened my departure. I did not want to see anyone. Now, I sit, being carried back to London, and Gladstone, and Holmes.


	16. Chapter 16

It is now late. The train car is quiet silent. I have had many drinks but feel to numb to be drunk. What kind of man am I? Am I a man at all? I am depraved. I beg of my friend, a world renown master of crime detection, to be nothing more than my carnal plaything. It could have landed us both in jail. In a jail that is both physical and socialite. I cared not. I cared only for my own pleasure. Why did I not fight back? I let him, Roth, climb upon me and did nothing to fight back. Did I want it to happen? No, I can't believe I did. And yet, I let it. I am strong, yet I barely struggled. I burn with shame. I smell him still on me. I can still feel his excitement on my back. I feel soiled. It never felt like that with Holmes. But, I have failed us both. And Rebecca, I left her to him without any warning of the beast she may discover. I am truly depraved. I hear tell of a card game. I shall go and win enough to come home at least triumphant to Holmes.


	17. Chapter 17

August 1901

I do not know where I am. I know only what I can ascertain by surveying my surroundings. As the assistant to Sherlock Holmes I should be able to find enough clues to piece together how I came to be in my current predicament. To this end I shall list the facts that I do know.

I am in a hotel room.

I do not know where this hotel room is located.

The décor of the hotel room suggests that it is not a fine establishment.

There is a female, naked in the bed next to me.

I am also naked.

The female appears to be in her twenties and her facial makeup suggests she is a woman of low quality.

Since I am still in receipt of my wallet, hat, suitcase and journal, I can conclude that the source of the pain in my head is from an abuse of alcohol and not from being struck.

I find no other clues and no other solution than to wake the female. She may have other details of my activities last night and as to why there are several passages missing from my journal.

August 1901

I am now alone, clean up and more settled about my predicament. Apparently I won money last night while on the train. I believe luck was on my side during the card game. When the train stopped at our destination here in London I sought out the very gambling establishments that Holmes warns me to keep away from. I still believe that something was slipped in my drink. I have, being a man of the world, overindulged before and have never had the lapse of memory I have experienced about last night. The woman, apparently named Rebecca, was procured by me sometime in the early hours of the morning. I am terribly embarrassed that I would buy a human simply because she shared a name with someone who did not wish to share their life with me. I am doubly embarrassed by what my actions were with her. She, kindly I must add for it is not her fault that society leaves some with no resources but to sell their bodies, explained that I could not complete my end of the negotiations. Whether this was due to the drink, or the loss of my real Rebecca, or the other incident, I do not care to know. I want to put this whole incident behind me. Since we are in London I am now free to rejoin my life and to pick up my friendship with Holmes. Oh and neither the woman, nor myself, can explain the missing journal pages. Since they contained the information about Roth, I am happy to let their whereabouts remain a mystery.


	18. Chapter 18

August 1901-

I arrived home at Baker Street, walked into the main hallway, and placed my bags down only to be almost knocked over as Holmes ran down the staircase and out onto the street. At once I turned and followed him. Why? Why do I do these things? What is this power that Holmes has to make me so incapable to make a rational decision? I saw him run down the street and turn the corner. I know all of Holmes many short cuts so I had little trouble following him. He ran into, what appeared at least on the outside, to be a rather derelict building. This was not far from the truth as the inside held little but decaying furniture and a few drunks sleeping off their indulgences. I caught up to Holmes as he was leaning against a damp wall in a barren room. He first words to me were, "why did you not take the First avenue alleyway? It would have been quicker." The fact, the very knowledge, that Holmes knew I was following him and neither signaled this nor slowed down should have been my first indication to leave right there and then. But as my own hand had shown time and time again in this journal, I am not a man who knows when to leave. I waited next to him curious as to who we were following. Holmes then darted from the room and up a flight of stairs. I followed in due haste. We continued this made race up and downstairs, into back alleys and through deserted warehouses. As we rounded yet another corner Holmes suddenly turned back towards me, grabbed my arm and pushed me into the metal seat of a chair at a small table. The table was located at a café we had just hurried past. Once I was seated Holmes threw himself into the opposite chair and pulled his hat lower on his face. I lowered my own head out of the sheer instinct that we were not to be seen. A few minutes later Holmes raised his head and I did the same. He pushed back his hat and smiled at me. I asked him what we had been chasing and he said, "Just a ghost. Nothing that can hurt us anymore." I found it very cryptic. Before I could enquire further the waiter arrived with a bottle of red wine. Holmes asked the waiter why, since we had not ordered it, he was bringing us the wine. The waiter said it was from a lady who had also left a card. It read "would it not be easier to simply meet me at our room in the Savoy?-Irene."

Fearing poison, Holmes insisted we leave the bottle untouched. He did, however, quell any fear he may have had about touching the lady herself. In short order he made his hurried goodbyes and we went our separate ways. I returned to Baker Street while Holmes went to the arms of Irene. By the time I returned to Baker Street I was tired, angry and frustrated. It was with this tangle of emotions that I prepared for bed, leaving my suitcase just as I had carried it in. As with most times that I am overtired, I could not sleep. After tossing about for much of the night I finally relented and got out of bed. I curled up with a new novel that had arrived from my local bookseller while I was away. I also poured myself a brandy in the hopes of drinking myself into slumber. It was in the early morning light that I heard a slight knock and Holmes swept into the room. His hair was even wilder than usual and his clothes had the look of having been put on in a hurry. He paced around babbling at me about various inconsequential things. Many of them were about Irene. How lovely she is, how he had misjudged her in the past and how happy he was to see her again. He stopped his pacing for a moment and eyed me up and down before proclaiming, "ah but as you have lost your fair maiden I expect that you think I am silly for my words. I apologize." And then, before I could get my wits about me, he left. I was flabbergasted. Did my heartbreak show? At least with Irene now back, for good perhaps, in Holmes heart I can settle down to my life as it once was. I shall concentrate on my practice. I shall leave the distractions to others.


End file.
